Incendiary Chariots

Well-traveled is my longing,

on a humble dirt path
winding beside the marsh,

trailing into the muffled dark.

The fever of the moon

leaves sweat on the temples,

causing my mouth to engage

and disengage like a clam.

My face is pocked with
the green stuff of swamps,
algaeic are my tears,
clinging like parasites.

Like pike in murky waters,

the coming months
will make away with my
fingers and toes.

Incendiary chariots
led by sky-black stallions
form rank to carry me
into the distant doom.

Should I allow them,
not even the bells of smoke
clanging for my name-day
will ring loud enough

over the clamor of hooves,
snapping chimneys
and bell towers like grain,
the hellish horde of doubt.